Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (24 page)

“I mean now, love.
Soon
.”
“I….” I still couldn’t quite believe that he was serious. “I can’t.”

He was silent for a moment, and as usual when he started these conversations in the dark, I wished that I could see his face. “Why not?” he finally asked.

“I have to find a job. My severance will be out soon. I have some vacation pay coming after that, but—”

 

“Once you find a job, you’ll be stuck here, love. You won’t get vacation time for months. If we’re going to go, this is the time to do it.”

He was right about the vacation time, of course. It would probably be a full year before I was afforded a single week of vacation time. Maybe a short trip wouldn’t be too irresponsible. I would still have time when I got home to find a job. “I could go for a few days—”

“No, Jonny.” He turned toward me and rolled so that he was lying on top of me, looking down at me in the dark. I wished I could see what was in his eyes. “I’m not talking about a few days. I’m not talking about a quick trip, and then back to Phoenix.” He stopped, as if he had to gather his courage. “I’m asking you to come to Paris with me indefinitely.”

“Cole, I don’t have that kind of money. Two weeks, maybe. Max. But—”

“Jonny.” It took him another second to say the next words, but when he did, I realized why he had been so hesitant. “You don’t need money.”

My first instinct was irritation, as it always was when he talked about money. But hot on its heels came anger, and I tried to beat it 192

 

back. But my voice was harsher than it should have been when I answered him. “You want me to allow you to support me?”

Another moment of silence, and then, “Yes.”
“No.”

“I have plenty, love. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And then, when we come back in four months, or six—”

“
Six months
?”
“—you can find a job then. We could—”

“No!” I said, louder, and he stopped short. He pulled away from me, almost as if I had slapped him. “No,” I said, gentler this time. “I can’t do that, Cole. Let’s go for two weeks. I can spare that—”

“And then you’ll be working again, and we’ll never get anything more than that,” he said, and I could hear him fighting to sound normal, although I suspected he was near tears again. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t see how this could mean so much.

“Cole….” What could I say? “I just can’t. I’m sorry.” He was silent. And then, in the darkness, I saw him nod. “I understand,” he said with quiet resignation.

 

“Really?” I asked, not wanting him to be upset.

“No,” he said. “Not really. But it’s what I expected you to say.” He moved off of me, but to my surprise, he didn’t move back to the other side of the bed like he so often did. He cuddled up next to me with his head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around him.

“Cole,” I said, wanting to tell him how much I loved him. But he seemed to anticipate me, as he always did, and his soft fingers fell on my lips, quieting me.

“Shhh, Jonny. Don’t say it.” He moved his hand away, wrapped his arm around me and snuggled closer. “Goodnight.”

 

He didn’t mention Paris again. And if over the next two weeks I saw clouds in his eyes more often than not, I did my best to ignore it. 193

Date: June 19
From: Cole
To: Jared

I understand addiction now. I never did before, you know. How could a man (or a woman) do something so self-destructive, knowing that they’re hurting not only themselves, but the people they love? It seemed that it would be so incredibly easy for them to just not take that next drink. Just stop. It’s so simple, really. But as so often happens with me, my arrogance kept me from seeing the truth of the matter.

I see it now though.

Every day, I tell myself it will be the last. Every night, as I’m falling asleep in his bed, I tell myself that tomorrow I’ll book a flight to Paris, or Hawaii, or maybe New York. It doesn’t matter where I go, as long as it’s not here. I need to get away from Phoenix—away from him—before this goes even one step further.

And then he touches me again, and my convictions disappear like smoke in the wind.

This cannot end well. That’s the crux of the matter, Sweets. I’ve been down this road before—you know I have—and there’s only heartache at the end. There’s no happy ending waiting for me like there was for you and Matt. If I stay here with him, I will become restless and angry. It’s happening already, and I cannot stop it. I’m becoming bitter and terribly resentful. Before long, I will be intolerable, and eventually, he’ll leave me. But if I do what I have to do, what my very nature compels me to do, and move on, the end is no better. One way or another, he’ll be gone. Is it not wiser to end it now, Sweets, before it gets to that point? Is it not better to accept that this happiness I have is destined to self-destruct?

Tomorrow I will leave. Tomorrow I will stop delaying the inevitable. Tomorrow I will quit lying to myself, and to him.

 

194

 

Tomorrow.

What about today, you ask? Today it’s already too late. He’ll be home soon, and I have dinner on the stove, and wine chilling in the fridge. And he will smile at me when he comes through the door, and I will pretend like this fragile, dangerous thing we have created between us can last forever.

Just one last time, Sweets. Just one last fix. That’s all I need.
And
that
is why I now understand addiction.

H
E WOKE
me in the dead of night, his soft hand gripping my arm. It was something he had never done before, and it took me a minute to even figure out what had happened.

“Cole?” It was pitch dark in the room. I could barely make out the shape of him, lying in front of me. His face was nothing but shadow. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer, but moved quickly into my arms. He was never hesitant about sex, and I knew if he had woken me for that purpose alone, he would be pursuing it already. This was something else, and it troubled me. Everything about it was wrong. He was too still, too quiet, too stiff against me. “What is it?” I whispered.

He wrapped his arms around me. He was trembling, and his lips were soft against mine. “Just one more time, love,” he whispered.

It was slow and gentle, and I found myself wanting to touch every part of him. He was quiet the whole time, his breath shaky, his soft, slender hands urging me on, his legs tight around my hips. And when I kissed him at the end, I tasted tears.

I stopped then, wondering if I was mistaken. I brushed my fingers over his cheeks and found them wet, and his breath caught in his throat. “Tell me what’s wrong.” But he didn’t. He just shook his head. He buried his face in my chest, and he quit fighting. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he gave in to it, crying quietly, shaking from the force of it, and I had no idea what to do. I held him tight until he fell asleep, his cheek still damp upon my chest. Long after his breathing 195

had slowed, I lay awake, my chest aching with a sense of foreboding. I told myself it was nothing. I told myself it would be fine. It was nearly five by the time I fell asleep. When I woke up two hours later, he was gone.

M
Y FIRST
thought was only that he had gone to the store. He almost always made breakfast. I was probably out of eggs or bacon. Or maybe he had decided not to cook today, and he would be back soon with bagels and lattes. I went for a jog, expecting to find him in the kitchen when I got home. But he still wasn’t there. I wondered about it, but I wasn’t worried. Not yet. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that I thought about what had happened in the night. How still he had been. His tears on my lips. His quiet whisper.

“Just one more time, love.”
And I knew then, in an instant, that something was wrong.

The trepidation I had felt as he lay sleeping in my arms grew into absolute dread. I called his house, but he didn’t answer. I called his cell phone, and it went to voice mail. I dressed as quickly as I could and drove to his house.

His eyes, when he answered the door were sad and a little bit red. He turned quickly away. “Would you like some wine?” he asked with forced casualness. As if this was okay. As if the ground was not shaking beneath my feet.

“It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

 

“I know what time it is, love. I’ll mix it with orange juice if it makes you feel better about it.”

“I’ve been trying to call.” He was silent, staring resolutely away from me. That seed of dread in my chest was blooming into full-blown panic now. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
196

“No,” he said, although his voice was strange. Strained. A little too quiet. Nothing followed except tense silence, and he still wasn’t looking at me.

“I don’t know what’s happening here, Cole, but you’re scaring the hell out of me. Please tell me what’s going on.”

 

It took him a second to answer. One second, and a deep shaking breath, and then: “It’s quite simple, darling. I’m leaving.”

That panic I was feeling exploded then, cutting off my air, squeezing my chest, threatening to choke me. My heart was pounding, and I had to grab on to the back of the couch, just to keep the world from spinning away while I stood there in numb shock. “You’re leaving me?” I finally managed to ask.

“I’m leaving Phoenix.”
Breathe.

I made myself breathe. Made myself count to five. Made myself think.

 

Leaving Phoenix did not necessarily mean leaving me. It didn’t have to mean that we were over.

“How long will you be gone?” I made myself ask.
“I don’t know yet, darling.”
“Where will you go?”
“To the Hamptons for now. Maybe Paris later.”

In a flash—only a heartbeat—my panic was gone, replaced by something much worse. Something ugly. “To Raul? Is
that
where you’re going?”

“No,” he whispered, and I could hear the tears in his voice.

“Am I not good enough for you?” I snapped, and I saw how hard it hit him. I saw his shoulders start to shake under the weight of my indignation.
197

“That’s not it,” he whispered, and my momentary anger melted away. I was left with nothing but pain and confusion and the unwavering conviction that I could not lose him.

I closed my eyes. I fought back the tears that were burning behind them. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. How could this be happening? If it was hurting him as much as it was hurting me, and I was pretty sure that it was, then why?

“Cole?” I said, opening my eyes, and he finally turned to me. His cheeks were wet, and I could see in his eyes that I was not wrong. He was so close to falling apart. “Cole,” I said again, pleading this time, “talk to me.”

“I have to go,” he said, his voice breaking on the words.

I crossed over to him. I took his face in my hands and tried to look into his eyes, but he closed them tight against me. I kissed the tears from his cheeks. “Then go,” I said. “But tell me you’re coming home to me eventually. Please tell me this isn’t over.”

“It has to end,” he said.
“Why?”

He took a deep, shaking breath, and when he opened his eyes again, they were swimming with tears. “Jonathan,” he said. It was his real voice—not the lilting cadence he normally used, but the quiet one underneath it. It wasn’t any lower than normal. It was still slightly feminine. But it was different—softer, and full of fear. And that one word, only my name, hurt me more than I would have thought possible, because it meant that he was deathly serious. “If I told you that I would see nobody else while I was gone, would you believe me? Would you take me at my word? I may be gone for two months or four or even six. You know how I’ve lived in the past. If I told you now that I would have no other lovers but you, would you have faith in me?”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say that I would trust him. But would I? Six months with him on the other side of the country or halfway around the world. Would I trust that he was alone all those nights?
198

“And what about you?” he went on, his voice a strained whisper. “Four months from now, when I’m still not home, will you wait for me? Or will you find somebody else to share your bed?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, and his tears started to come faster.

“
I do
.” He pushed my hands away, turned away from me to wipe his eyes. “Either you’ll assume I’m being unfaithful and you’ll be bitter and angry, or you’ll get tired of waiting for me and you’ll find somebody else. Either way, one day I’ll come home, and you’ll be gone.”

“You don’t know that it would be that way.”
“I
do
know, Jon. That’s how it always works.”
“You told me you hadn’t ever tried.”
“I lied. And I can’t go through that, Jon. Not again.”

I took his arm and turned him toward me. “I don’t want this to end, Cole. Please don’t do this. I lov—”

“
Don’t
say it!” he whispered, putting his fingertips against my lips to quiet me. There was something like panic in his eyes. “Please don’t say it,” he said again, pleading.

“Cole—”
“We should never have let it go this far.”

“I don’t want you to go, Cole. I don’t want this to be over. Please don’t do this. I can’t believe that there are no other options.”

His tears were coming faster now, but he didn’t make a move to hide them from me or to wipe them away. “There’s one other way,” he said. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Of course.”
“You won’t like it.”
“You don’t know that.”

He didn’t believe me, I could tell. But he took a deep breath and said, “Come with me.”

 

199

“Come with you where?”
He hesitated just a second, then said, “Everywhere.”

I had to think for a bit about what he was saying, and once it dawned on me, I felt anger stirring in my breast. I let go of him and took a step back, and I saw in his eyes that it was what he expected. “You mean forget about working and just travel with you?”

“Yes,” he said.

 

“We’ve already talked about this once, Cole. I will not follow you around like a kept boy and live off of your charity.”

 

“It’s not charity, Jon.”

 

“It will look that way to everybody else.” My voice was getting louder.

“It doesn’t matter what other people—”
“How could I even hold my head up, Cole?”